Anything Less
by Gaudiam
Summary: On the evening of Eldarion's christening, Aragorn contemplates fatherhood, love, and his own vulnerabilities. Has a hint of Legolas and Arwen.


Dedicated to fathers everywhere, and to those with father's hearts.

 _The heart of a father is a masterpiece of nature.-Abb_ é _Pr_ é _vost_

* * *

Across the plains of Gondor, across the White City, across the fair forests of Ithilien beyond and shuttered by the mountains beyond, the rays of the setting sun struggled to maintain their length. Banks of grey clouds piled in the West, and gusts of winds from the East drove them further to cover the sky above the city, dimming its white towers to a dull grey. Light sprays of rain began to fall, driving the city's residents, men with carts laden with wares, messengers and errand runners, children snatching final minutes of play, off the streets of stone and into shelter. Warmth and cheer and family waited in welcome, and hearts were yet glad. For not lightly did the people of Gondor take the freedom from the Shadow that had darkened their realm for countless years, and on the walls the sentries sighed to themselves as they relished the cool breeze amid the increasing sprinkle, mindful of a time when it would have brought with it the dark sense of evil.

For the shadow had departed, and the joy of the City only increased as time lengthened between the days of evil and now. For the King and his Queen had a son, and the people rejoiced.

In the royal chambers, standing at the balcony in the fresh breeze, the King himself looked over his city and the expanse, and the gathering clouds. Aragorn surveyed all in his sight and thought all that fate and friendship and long years of toil had given him.

A city, a Queen. Deep and abiding friendships, and loyal comrades. Joy and peace mingled with fading grief from the evil years. A kingdom that he loved and gave his all for.

And his child.

So much had changed, and the greatest of these in the last week.

The King remembered the tumult of emotions that had passed over him when Eldarion was born; relief that Arwen's labor and pain was over, their shared and tearful joy of holding ad examining his tiny body for the first time, the wonder and happiness and awe and _love…_

The days and nights that had followed had been hectic, he mused. Arwen was distracted and caught up in the care for her child and her own recovery, and Aragorn's attention was unhappily forced into cares of his kingdom, and he was unable to spend as much time with her and their son as he wanted.

And if he admitted it, he wondered if he wanted the distraction would lessen soon or nor. He did not wish to be selfish, but caring for a newborn was… _stressful_ , even with nurses always ready to step in for a helping hand, Arwen would go to sleep or merely fret with worry over the wellbeing of the tiny newborn until he was back in her arms.

And _sleep_ , ah, there was the rub. Aragorn rubbed his eyes. He was always tired, and that brought out irritation and doubt in spades.

He did not wish to dwell on this, but he knew he must, for he would not let any thought fester in his mind and possibly cloud it. For the cares of his kingdom were many, and putting to rights his realm caused him no insignificant amount of anxiety. But now he must take thought to what toll his kingship would have on his fatherhood.

He feared he would never match the love that Arwen did for their child _._ Often it seemed to him in the watches of the night when roused by the child's cries that it was irritation, not love, that too often assailed his thoughts. No doubt it was due in part to the burdens of his kingship, and no doubt too that it was a natural reaction. He now had long practice at hiding his irritations at the pettiness of dignitaries or serving maids or the thousand ways in which his preferences were thwarted by the protocols of kingship. _But I would not have it so with my son._

Yet he admitted, he wished for a measure of peace right now, of the peaceful moments spent with Arwen, that seemed all too few and lessened.

He loved his son, and his love would only grow. Yet he would that he could feel it more fully now, and not let the burdens of his kingship rob him of any measure of Arwen's and Eldarion's happiness.

 _But greater love will come in time_ he told himself firmly.

Aragorn sighed, and abruptly tried to shake off the reverie which had overtaken him. He was king, after all, and had little time for idle reflections. Besides, he had all that he needed…

Eldarion had been born seven days before, and the christening ceremony had been that morning. Guests had poured in, old friends, the barest acquaintances, dignitaries whose names he forced into his memory lest he embarrassingly forget and have to wait for Faramir to smoothly drop the name in rescue.

Legolas had been there, with his contingent of Elven kin from Ithilien. The prince had given him an embrace at first opportunity, then pulled back and looked searchingly at him, no doubt noting the new lines of exhaustion that not even Aragorn's new-found happiness could keep from appearing. Aragorn smiled as he recalled their interactions.

 _Legolas had sought him out later, in a quieter room where he could speak with a low voice for a few minutes amid the controlled chaos around them as the celebration continued. It would not be the first time Legolas had offered his friend support and comfort against the demands of kingship._

 _His friend's eyes met his, and Legolas smiled "My friend, long have I wished you this joy in your life…"_

 _They had talked then, and Aragorn had confessed a few of the doubts assailing him. Legolas had listened, knitting his eyebrows at times but merely listening._

 _When Aragorn had finished, and looked up into his friend's eyes with a bit of anxiety, Legolas had smiled reassuringly._

" _Estel, love is an act of the will. I know you know this. Do not be troubled, for you have held firm to fairness and kindness in the face of many assaults, even when faced with great strain, as even these mad ambassadors from Ringlo Vale must admit after you allowed them to tour the bell towers. You are a good father, and though you do not feel the strength of your love yet, it will come."_

They had been interrupted then, but Aragorn remembered his friend's words and had tucked them away to ponder them later.

A baby's squall abruptly pierced the memory. He suppressed a reflexive sigh. Arwen had just fed Eldarion, and was resting, worn out. Aragorn decided that, as long as his Queen was asleep, he would comfort the child as best he could, and perhaps soothe the ache in his heart caused by these perplexing feelings.

He rose and swiftly walked to the bedroom.

A minute later, he returned to the now-darkening room with the child in his arms, and gently started rocking him back and forth. Eldarion's eyes opened. Aragorn paused and abruptly stopped the rocking motion, holding his breath lest the cries start over. But the infant merely looked at him.

Aragorn gently lowered himself into a chair by the small fire in the hearth, and looked again at the marvel that was his son.

With one finger he traced Eldarion's ear. The perfection of its curvature and outlines, with the hint of an Elvish point, still enthralled him, as it had when first he had looked up his son.

He continued to look at his child, remembering the seven days that had passed in a blur, but yet were so full of memories that already faded in anticipation of new ones to be made. He thought of Eldarion's future. When the boy took his first steps, when he would first laugh, and speak.

When he would embrace his parents and consciously return their love.

 _We give and give and give to this little one, all our love and care. To him we give our joy and hopes and future. Love is comprised of sacrifice, and yet gladly do I give it._

Unbidden, an image flashed across his mind, of his child rushing to meet him, the Evenstar around his neck, and delight and joy on his face as his father reached to clasp him in his arms. His breath caught in his throat as he thought of all the joy his child would bring to him and Arwen, all the love, that not even the grief and cares of life would ever erase, of the pride and hope they would have in their son.

He looked into the eyes of his son. _But love is an act of the will._

He shifted gently, gathering the child closer to him, and stroked his fingers lightly through the dark hair. _I will love you always. Through anything. Hurt, anguish, loss, heartbreak. To the breaking of the world. Even if you rejected me and everything I stood for._ That was how much he loved his son-his thoughts floundered then. … _No,_ _I cannot put into words the breadth of it…_

Fierce and overwhelming love and protectiveness rushed through his body then, his emotions surging all at once, threatening to overwhelm him. Aragorn bowed his head against his son's, his heaving breath fanning his child's hair, and gently kissed his forehead. He knew, then, that he would not fail his son, that the wisdom he exercised with his subjects was a grace that would also be to the benefit of his family. _For I could not be anything less to ones so dear._

He sighed, deep peace and contentment filling his heart.

A light noise came from the bedroom, and Arwen's voice called his name. Aragorn rose, hot elation still flowing through him, and rose to greet the Queen where she stood at the door.

"Look at our son, Arwen!" Aragorn presented the child to her, his long arms cradling the boy till the mother took him to her breast. He smiled and gently caressed the head of the infant.

Arwen smiled at him, touched and amused that he was so animated. The day had been tiring. But her gaze was soft, for she knew something of what Aragorn had striven not to burden her with overmuch, and the peace she had prayed for could now be seen in his eyes.

She took his hand, and looked into his eyes, and gave thanks yet again for the shared love for their child that she knew would only strengthen their own.

Long did the King and Queen of Gondor talk that night, with their hopes and dreams before them.

Beyond the farthest boundaries of the East, the rays of sun emerged, bathing the city in light.

* * *

 _A man doesn't need to be flawless to be a perfect father, but the commitment to his family is a precious responsibility._

 _-Paul Young_


End file.
